


Albert

by Dolimir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: Vignettes featuring Bobby's house elf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The genesis of this story started because there was a meme went around a couple of years ago where you number 1-12 and assign a character to each number. Folks then give you a word or phrase to use in a story. 
> 
> However, I liked the combination and would let my brain play with it from time to time. 
> 
> Not really a proper story. Just a series of vignettes.
> 
> *-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Uncle Bobby, why is your house so clean?”

Bobby Singer looked up from his tome of Sumerian blood-letting rituals and over at the boy lying on the cot by the wall. Dean Winchester, age eight, a rough and tumble sort of lad, but laid up with a broken leg. He’d been working his way through a stack of comic books, but apparently finally needed a little attention. 

“What sort of question is that?” While Bobby's tone was semi-incredulous, he was secretly pleased. Dean had a habit of toeing the line a little too much for his own good and Bobby really enjoyed the times the boy peeked out from his shell. 

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you clean. And while you have books and papers everywhere, there really isn’t any dust.”

“I have a house elf.” Bobby shrugged and looked back down at his book, silently counting to ten in his head. 

“A house elf? What’s that?”

Bobby looked up. “It’s an elf who likes to clean houses.”

“No one _likes_ to clean houses.”

“House elves do.”

Dean frowned a little, as if wondering why Bobby was still pulling his leg. “Is it a boy or a girl?” 

“It’s a boy.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s his name?”

“Albert.”

“You have a boy elf named Albert who likes to clean houses?”

“Of course.”

Dean laughter echoed around the room. “And just where did you get this house elf?”

Bobby bit the inside of his lip. “It was my wife’s.”

Dean made a little eeping sound, then looked back down at his comics.

Bobby damned himself for making Dean scurry back into his shell. He’d been so focused on teasing the boy that he hadn’t anticipated the inevitable question. He wanted to try to pull the boy back out again, but knew that Dean could be as stubborn as his father. No, he’d have to wait to see if the boy’s curiosity eventually got the best of him. Suppressing a sigh, he turned his gaze back toward his research. 

“Uncle Bobby?”

Bobby closed his eyes in relief as Dean’s quiet voice broke the room’s stillness nearly a quarter of an hour later. 

“Yes, Dean.”

“Is a house elf a variation of a snipe?”

And just like that, the tension left Bobby’s body.

“Nope.” He grinned, careful not to look over at Dean. 

“They’re not related in any way?”

“None whatsoever.”

“So you’re implying they’re real?”

“I’m not implying anything, son. I’m simply stating facts.”

“How big are they?”

Bobby shrugged. “As a species, they vary in size, but generally they sit between two and three feet.”

“Are they bipeds?”

Something that felt a lot like pride grew in Bobby’s chest. The boy was asking questions that some of the hunters currently out in the field would never think to ask. And while Bobby hoped beyond hope that John would find the thing that killed his wife before Dean was old enough to hunt, he was pleased to see that the boy was a thinker. “Yep.”

“What color is their skin?”

“It varies, like humans, although they do have various shades of gray as well.”

“What color is Albert?”

“He’s sort of a pinkish gray.”

“A pinkish gray?”

“Yep.”

Dean was silent for a few minutes. Without moving his head, Bobby watched Dean as he mulled over this new information. 

“And they actually like to clean?”

Bobby barely suppressed his snort of amusement. Dean was really having a hard time wrapping his head around that aspect of elf behavior. “Yep.”

“Then why is your house so cluttered?”

“Cluttered?”

“Er…that is…uh…”

Bobby took mercy on the boy. “I like my things where I have them.”

“Does it bother Albert?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“So why does he stay?”

“Lord only knows.”

Dean stared at the ceiling, and Bobby found himself looking forward to the next round of questions. 

“What do house elves eat?”

“The same things we do.”

“What’s Albert’s favorite food?”

“He’ll eat anything, but he’s partial to apples.”

“Does he eat desserts?”

“Of course. But he also has a love for KitKats that borders on the obsessive, just like you do.”

Dean went silent again, although this time the silence was deeper somehow. Bobby returned his attention back to his research. 

After a half hour, Dean cleared his throat. Bobby looked up expectantly. Dean opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind. 

“Go on,” Bobby said encouragingly. “You know there aren’t any stupid questions in this house.”

Dean mulled that statement over for a bit. “How do you kill a house elf?”

Bobby snapped his jaw shut to keep from shouting at the boy. Dean seemed to realize he’d asked the wrong question and shrank back on himself. 

Taking a deep breath, Bobby pushed his rolling chair away from the desk and rolled it to the side of Dean’s cot. Dean looked at him with worried eyes, fear lingering about at the edges. Bobby took another deep breath, just to make sure he was calm enough for the conversation. 

“Dean, I want to talk to you hunter-to-hunter.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise. Nodding, he pushed himself into a sitting position and angled himself so that he was facing Bobby.

“What I’m about to tell you is going to fly in the face of everything your daddy’s ever told you about the supernatural. I don’t want you to dismiss it out of hand, nor do I want you to embrace it over anything your father’s taught you. I want you to listen to what I have to say, then decide what you’re going to do with it.”

Dean nodded, his face torn between being frightened and intrigued. 

“Not everything supernatural or magical is evil.”

Dean blinked like he was expecting Bobby to say more. His face twisted in confusion as he looked to Bobby for further explanation.

“Are all humans good?” Bobby asked.

The boy shook his head. 

“That’s right. Some are very good. Some are sort of good. Some are neither good nor bad. And some are varying shades of evil. Many supernatural creatures are the same way.”

Dean studied his face for a moment, no doubt checking to see if Bobby was pulling his leg or not. “Like what?”

“Shape shifters.”

“But dad--”

“Dean, hunters track down bad creatures and make sure they don’t hurt innocent people. We usually find them by tracking patterns and investigating why people die in not-so-normal ways. We have no reason to hunt creatures who are minding their own business and leaving humans alone.

“Your daddy was protecting people by hunting down that shape shifter in Louisiana. It was killing people because it was greedy and because it could, just like a human serial killer. But not everything that’s inhuman is bad or evil. Not everything wants to hurt humans. Some just want to live their lives like everyone else. They know they’re different and they hide that difference from folks if they can. If they can’t, they move on. Sometimes they have to kill to protect themselves. I always hate those cases because it means a hunter has to try to figure out if they’re going to keep killing or not.

“Some creatures, like wendigos are irredeemably bad. There’s no point thinking there aren’t. They became wendigos because they murdered someone and ate them.”

“What about werewolves?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no way to cure a werewolf. It’s tragic because often times they don’t realize they’re werewolves. You can have a perfectly normal person twenty-seven days of the month, but over the three days when the moon is full, they’re nothing but a vicious, sadistic animal. It’s usually kinder to kill them when they’re a wolf. That way they’ll never know what they were or who they might have killed.”

“But it’s not their fault?”

“No, it’s not. But the animal reacts off the id. While you might forgive someone for being mean to you while you’re human, when you turn into a wolf, the wolf sees that person as an enemy and has no problem killing them. Hunters have been researching for decades for a way to turn them human again, but no one has ever found the answer. It’s tragic, but someone has to do what needs to be done.”

The boy nodded thoughtfully. “What about vampires?”

“You don’t need to worry about vampires. They’ve all been hunted to extinction. At least, we think they have. Vampires had a choice. They didn’t have to kill humans for blood, but they did. There’s a chance, I suppose that one or two might still be alive, but as long as they don’t draw attention to themselves by killing people, hunters aren’t going to know they exist, now will they?”

The boy shook his head. 

“What I’m saying is that you’re going to have to judge each situation as it presents itself to you. Ninety-five percent of the time, it’s kill or be killed. But sometimes you’re going to come across something that doesn’t fit neatly into that box.”

“Like Albert?”

“Like Albert, who only wants to serve humanity.”

“Then why don’t we know more about house elves? Why doesn’t everyone have one?”

“Those are good questions,” Bobby said. “Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you at this time. Maybe, when you’re a little older we can revisit the subject again.”

The boy looked mutinous for a moment, then finally nodded. 

“In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hurt Albert. He can be a pain in the tucus, but I’ve gone rather fond of the squeaky, bat-eared goof.”

Dean nodded. “I won’t hurt him. I promise.”

Bobby gently gripped the boy’s shoulder, then graced him with a smile as he released it. “Good lad.” Standing, he moved his chair back to his desk.

“Bobby?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Do you think Albert will ever let me see him?”

“He might, one day.”

Bobby watched as Dean grinned, knowing full well that Dean would be looking for his little housekeeper the moment he was back on his feet. Poor Albert. His life was going to get very interesting fairly quick.


	2. The Birthday Wish

As the last candle flickered out, a small grin blossomed over Dean’s face. 

“Whaddya wish for, Dean?” a wide-eyed six-year old Sammy asked. His eyes never left the cake, as if the chocolate frosting was somehow mesmerizing him. 

“You know I can’t say, Sammy. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

Sammy scoffed at him, but the noise died when Bobby placed a plate with a slice of cake in front of him.

Dean moaned as he took his first bite of cake, savoring the moist sweetness.

“You make the bestest cake, Uncle Bobby.” Sammy smiled revealing chocolate covered teeth.

*-*-*-*-*-*

As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck eleven, Dean tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He moved to the kitchen table and nervously placed an unopened package of Kit-Kats on the table then moved back into the doorway. 

“Thank you for the birthday cake, Albert. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He waited for a moment, expectantly, then lowered his head in disappointment. 

“Albert is happy Master Dean liked his cake,” a quiet, but pleased voice said from the shadows.

Lifting his head, Dean grinned. “It was awesome!”

“Would Master Dean like another piece?”

“Only if you’ll have a piece with me.”

A small happy squeak echoed around the kitchen as a tiny figure stepped into a patch of moonlight seeping from the window. It waved Dean toward a chair, then practically ran to the refrigerator. 

Obediently, Dean took the indicated chair. 

A moment later, Albert set the cake in front of Dean. Between one blink of the eye and the next, two glasses of milk, two plates, two forks and a knife appeared in front of him. Albert sliced a ridiculously large piece of cake and placed it on Dean’s plate, taking a much smaller slice and placing it on his own plate. 

Trying not to stare, Dean took a big bite of cake. He moaned again in happiness and noticed the huge smile on Albert’s face. The elf’s ears practically quivered in delight. 

“This really is the best cake I’ve ever had,” Dean told the elf. “Even Sammy thought so.”

“Master Dean is very kind to say so.” While his tone was self-effacing, Dean noticed the elf sat a little taller in his seat. 

“It’s true.”

“Albert wanted to make this Master Dean’s best birthday ever.”

Dean grinned. “You did, Albert. You definitely did.”


	3. A New Beginning

It gutted Dean to see Bobby’s home in such a deplorable condition: burned out, partially collapsed and exposed to the elements. But then again, he found he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else living in the house as if Bobby had never existed either. 

The land was technically Dean’s. Bobby had named him as a beneficiary on a deed filed down at the courthouse. He had also set up an account that would pay the taxes on the land for the next fifty years, as if realizing Dean would never be able to cope with such details. A part of Dean thought he should protest that assumption, but he and Bobby both knew the truth. 

Fifty years seemed about right. Surely, he would be dead by then. The wards and protections would last for a millennium, practically making it hallowed ground. Hopefully, after a half a century, when the county eventually took the property back, evil would’ve stop dropping by and whoever eventually owned the property would be safe. Bobby had made sure of that. 

Of course he had. 

He had planned for every eventual outcome. 

Except one. 

Perhaps. 

Maybe. 

If Dean’s memory could be relied upon. 

If it hadn’t all been a dream. 

He cleared his throat once, feeling rather foolish, but unwilling to turn away. 

“Albert?”

Nothing happened. Not that he expect it to be easy. Hoped, perhaps, but didn’t expect. 

He spotted one of Bobby’s kitchen chairs and walked over to it. Pressing his weight down on the back of the chair, he grunted once in satisfaction. Cautiously, he sat in it, then forced himself to relax. 

“You know that Bobby was like a second father to me.” He spoke casually, not raising his voice. “He looked after me, cared for me, protected me, even when I was being a shit. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

“My own father loved me, of course. But he was so focused on trying to find the thing that killed my mom that he sometimes got distracted. I never blamed him. He was absolutely doing the best he could, given the circumstances.”

Dean paused and swallowed hard. “But Bobby . . . He always saw me. Even when I wished he wouldn’t. 

“After my dad died . . . Well, I wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for Bobby. I know that; hell, even you know that because I have no doubt he used to rant about me . . . and Sam. He used to say he was losing his hair because of us.” 

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. 

“My point is . . . he saw you too, didn’t he? He wasn’t supposed to, but he did. And I know he always acted all gruff and blustery, but you knew he cared. Deeply. Because you were his connection to Karen. Having you in his life kept her alive in his heart. But he got to know you as well, didn’t he? And he learned to love you for you. And he loved you because you forgave him . . . for what he did . . . for what he had to do . . . because you knew it nearly killed him. 

“And it would absolutely kill him to know you were here alone with no one to look after.”

He took another deep breath. 

“Me and Sam, right now all we have is the Impala. Which works for us. But eventually, we’ll find some place to home base.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, Albert, is that I’d be honored if you’d come with me and take care of us. Without . . . without Bobby . . . well, you would help me and Sam stay connected with him. And maybe, we could help you as well.”

Dean looked up and scanned the destroyed kitchen, his eyes taking in all the details. And still, his gaze almost slid over the small devastated house elf trembling by the sink. 

Not knowing what else to do, he opened his arms. 

Albert ran to him and Dean picked him up, acutely aware of the fragility of the elf’s bones. He simply held the elf as he wept. A part of Dean wished he could grieve just as freely, but knew if he did he’d never be able to stop. 

After several minutes, Albert hiccuped himself to a calmer state and Dean gently set the elf on the floor in front of him. 

“Will you come with me?”

Albert nodded.

“Do you need to gather your things?”

Albert shook his head. “Mr. Bobby had some things Albert is sure he would want Mr. Dean to have.”

Dean nodded. “Should we go get them?”

“No, everything is in Albert’s between space.”

A hundred questions popped into Dean’s head, but he knew there’d be a better time to ask them. 

Reaching down, he took Albert’s hand and lead him out of Bobby’s house, stopping by the doorway to take one last look around, before he headed toward the Impala. 

“Albert would like to wait to introduce himself to Mr. Sam.” The house elf stood with his head hanging in shame as Dean opened the door to the Impala. 

“He’s going to see you as you travel with us.”

“No,” the elf said quietly. “Not right away.”

Part of Dean was indignant on Sam’s behalf, but he could also admit to himself that there might be some residual evil lingering within Sam that would explain Albert being nervous around him and he didn’t want to push the already traumatized elf any more than necessary. “Okay. Not right away. But Sammy’s a good kid. You’ll see. You’ll grow to trust him just as much as I do.”

Albert gave him a small smile as he hopped into the front seat of the Impala and moved to the passenger’s side. 

“So, Albert,” Dean said as he got into the car himself, “Do you like rock and roll?”


	4. A What

“A what?” Sam’s face scrunched in confusion, making him look like an overgrown puppy who’d been told ‘no’ for the first time. 

“You heard me.”

“I heard you, but I think you might be having a stroke.”

Dean grinned, knowing he shouldn’t, but was unable to stop himself. “Could be.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up his hand. “All I’m saying is don’t try to kill him if you happen to see him, although you probably won’t see him for a while.”

“Why not?”

Dean debated telling him the truth, but decided against it. “Look, he’s been through a lot. Just give him some time and don’t shoot him if you see him. Okay?”

Sam rolled his gaze heavenward. “Fine. Whatever.”


	5. The Bunker

“Okay, there’s a few rules.”

Albert was practically dancing with anticipation, although he was trying hard to focus on Dean. 

“One. If you don’t know what it is or if it might be dangerous, don’t touch it. Come get me.”

The elf nodded impatiently, but Dean reached forward and gently grabbed the elf’s chin, forcing Albert to look at him. 

“I’m serious. There are potentially lethal things in here.”

Albert took a deep breath and released it. “Yes, Mister Dean.”

“Two. Other than me . . . and Sam, whenever you feel up to it, don’t reveal yourself to anyone, unless I call you. You’ve been with us awhile now, so you know how easily someone can get possessed or have their will subverted. I’m not willing to take any chances with your safety.”

“Not even to your angel?”

“Not even him. Not yet at least.”

Albert nodded solemnly. 

“Three. You have free reign of the joint. Explore as much as you want. Let me know if you find anything interesting. Claim any room you want as your own.”

Albert started bouncing on his toes again. 

“Go on. Have fun.”

And with that, the elf disappeared. 

Dean grinned. “Crazy kid.”


	6. Apple Pie

“Albert, apple pie tonight. Okay?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who had his feet up on the table and his eyes closed, even though his face was pointed toward the ceiling. 

“Get your own damn pie.”

“Not talking to you,” Dean sing-songed.

“Is this about your invisible house elf again?”

“Not invisible. To me.”

A smirk was teasing the edges of Dean’s mouth, but Sam wasn’t falling for it. Dean was known for his long games and Sam wasn’t going to get caught in his webs again. 

But damned if there wasn’t a pie in the kitchen that evening.


	7. Belief

Sam stopped short as he entered the library. 

All the empty beer bottles were gone, as were their dinner plates. And while their books and notepads were still laid out where they’d been last night, there wasn’t a single trace of a crumb. 

Frowning, he went to the kitchen, but it was immaculate as well. Everything was clean and in its place. 

In fact, after their first week in the bunker, Sam couldn’t recall finding any dust, grime or dirt on anything, even the books. 

Feeling uncomfortable, he cleared his throat once and tried not to blush. 

“Thank you, Albert.”


	8. Clarification

“So what does he get out of it?”

“What does who get out of what?”

“Albert.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from grinning. He knew how much Sam hated to ask the question, believing on some level that Dean was still pranking him, but his curiosity was clearly getting to him. 

“Jigsaw puzzles and all the Kit-Kats he can eat.”

Sam sneered at him. 

“And someone to care for, even if they don’t believe in him,” Dean said in a quieter voice. 

Sam startled, but said nothing, even as he surreptitiously glanced around the kitchen.


	9. Acceptance

Sam came crashing down the metal stairs, his eyes wild as he spotted the small puddle of blood on the main floor. 

“Dean! Dean!”

There were several drops of blood on the stairs leading into the library, with an even larger pool by the table. 

“Dean!” His voice echoed around the room. 

The bunker was huge with corridors they hadn’t even begun to explore yet. Sam’s heart fluttered with panic, even as he tried to tell himself that Dean would stick with what he knew. 

Even with that thought, he knew he could be losing precious seconds. 

“Albert! Albert, front and center now!”

A second later, a small pinkish gray creature dressed in overalls appeared before him out of thin air, but Sam barely registered his appearance. 

“Dean?”

The elf ‘eeped’ and ran down the hallway toward Dean’s bedroom. Sam ran after him, a small part of his brain wondering why he couldn’t catch up with the elf, even though he was never out of his sight. 

As he skidded through the doorway of Dean’s bedroom, relief flooded through him as he noticed the bandages around Dean’s bare abdomen. 

Sam staggered to the side of Dean’s bed and sat next to his brother; his hand automatically encircling Dean’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open. “Heya, Sammy.” His voice was barely audible, but he seemed to be in decent spirits. 

“What were you thinking,” Sam said in exasperation. “I should wring your neck.” 

“And undo all of Albert’s hard work.”

Sam snorted once in amusement. “Albert. So it seems we have a house elf.”

Dean’s eyes, which had fallen shut, opened and he gave his brother a small grin. “I’ve been telling you that for months now.”

“So you have.”

“He’s the best.” Dean’s voice was drowsy as he started to drift off. 

“Mister Dean lost a lot of blood, but he will recover.”

“Thank you, Albert. For being here for him. For us.”

The house elf gave Sam a shy smile. “Albert lives to serve.”


End file.
